


Month By Month

by Little Miss Miki (Little_Knight_Mik)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: ??????, Idk what to tag here, M/M, Past Violence, extremely vague smut i guess????, facial scarring, what do i tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-20 00:17:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2408189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Knight_Mik/pseuds/Little%20Miss%20Miki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are things you’ve begun to notice, though, and you can’t figure out what to think of them. Dirk’s gaze tends to linger on you lately, usually when you’re not looking, and you get the gut feeling that he’s not watching your scars. (Granted, they’ve faded from their obvious milky-pink colour, a little more difficult to spot at a distance.) He smiles more than usual, often leans on his hand when you come over for dinner and wait for you to eat first. You’re probably reading too far into his actions and behaviour, but part of you feels like you’re onto something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had to rewrite this entire chapter because my computer crashed at around the seventh page and i hadn't saved it prior. Genius, amirite?

**First Month**

It’s the yelling and the arguing from across the hall that makes you stop and listen, nostalgia filling in your chest. You can feel your cheek begin to throb underneath its bandage as you hear things behind thrown, glass being broken. More yelling, the topic of the argument nowhere near the one you’d recently gone through. There’s the tumbling of bodies as they scuffle and yell, and absently you tell yourself that all that’s missing is the voice of a girl in the middle, begging for the two to stop before they hurt themselves.

All at once, it ends. You do your best not to notice when the brunette kicks down the door, storms out of the apartment behind you, fists clenched and bloody as he shouts something over his shoulder. You pretend not to notice the blonde follow out, screaming something back as blood drips from his chin, his lip. You pretend you aren’t watching as the blonde turns his gaze back to you, sipping your coffee and hurriedly unlocking your door. You pretend you don’t hear the blonde call out to you as you scurry inside, locking the door behind you.

It’s the first time you’ve even noticed he was there, despite having lived here for two weeks already, and you suspect it’s the first time he’s noticed you as well. You’ve no doubt the first thing he saw, aside from the shades, had been the bandage covering a good portion of the left side of your face - it seems to be the main attraction lately, even if it’s only been on for three weeks.

You sink down to the floor, leaning against the door, once you hear him retreat back to his own apartment; he isn’t going to knock down your door any time soon for an interrogation, and the thought makes you sigh in relief. The last thing you need right now is a whole lot of stress. You sip your coffee again, frown at the lack of sugar in it, and feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. It’s been going off all day, but you can’t bring yourself to answer it. Too many people are bringing too many things up, and you just want them all to shut up for just _one day_ so you can think.

Three days later is when you see him again, when you’re both leaving your apartments to get your mail. He emerges from his 4B just as you’re locking up your 4A, and he gives you a rather noticeable once-over before falling into step beside you. You can feel him occasionally glance at you - you’ve lived your life under a tinted stare, and his is no different from Bro’s careful, pre-strife analysis. You’re tempted to tell him to take a picture, it’ll last longer, and then flash step to your mail with the schmuck left wondering _Oh no, where’d Dave go?_

He interrupts your train of thought by asking what happened in order for you to need such a large bandage. You tell him it was an unfortunate incident. He asks if it’d be rude to want to know what kind of unfortunate incident it was. You don’t answer, and decide to just keep walking past the mail slots and out the building, check your mail later when blondie isn’t there to ask you invasive questions. You spend the rest of the day being stared at by adults, mostly, and can practically feel the thoughts running through their heads.

_I wonder how drunk he was in the fight? Tsk, tsk, that’s what you get for picking a fight, young man. The poor thing will never look the same…_

Quite frankly, it’s fuckin’ rude.

You call up Bro, spend about two hours talking on the phone with him in hushed tones, and then fuck off to watch a movie. One movie becomes two. Two becomes three. You’re kicked out after the fourth. By the time you get back to your apartment, the landlord tells you that someone else had collected your mail for you, using the excuse that you’d probably forget by the time you got back. You don’t admit that you had in fact forgotten you’d originally come out to get the mail, and ask the landlord for the room number.

The moment he says 4B is the moment you want to strangle a bitch.

Keep up a brave face, though, you thank the landlord and head up to the blonde’s apartment. 4B doesn’t make a big fuss over having your mail, doesn’t ask about the bandage again. He wordlessly hands you the two packages and three envelopes, bids you a good night, and closes the door behind him.

You’re quick to discard the letters when you figure out who they’re from and what the contents are just based on the covers, don’t even bother with the packages. They’re both from Bro, probably the small stuff you left behind (or decorative smuppets to hang around your house), but you aren’t all that interested in seeing just what they are yet.

It’s your second week of your first month. You’ve met your neighbour, you don’t like him, and not once have you felt comfortable enough to log back into pesterchum. Everyone keeps texting you, and you can only hope the frequency of messages decreases with time. You call Bro six more times in the two weeks that follow.

\--

**Second Month**

You’ve never particularly liked it when people stare at you. You can’t tell if it comes from years of Bro watching you like a hawk before and during strifes, or if it comes from all the times you felt Li’l Cal’s dead-eyed gaze burn into your back, but you sure as hell know that you loathe any pair of eyes stuck on you for more than thirty seconds.

The recent trip to the doctor, who’d been informed by your previous doctor of “the incident”, has ended in the removal of the bandage and the too-cheery information on how long it’ll take for the remaining stitches to dissolve. You understand that she’s trying to help and that she knows what she’s doing, but you just want the stitches and the scarring gone _now_ , leaving behind no evidence of anything ever happening to you. You don’t know if you even want to look in a mirror at this point, because you just know you’ll see what everyone else is seeing - think what they’re thinking.

You survive the trip home, trudging up the stairs to your cozy 4A. All you want to do is hide under your blankets, sleep until the remaining stitches fall out, maybe binge on ice cream and apple juice until it becomes inevitable that you need to visit Bro for Christmas. You know he’ll keep your arrival back in Houston quiet, and deep down you’re somewhat glad that he’s keeping your business your own business. _Unlike some people_ , you think bitterly.

It isn’t until you’ve reached the door to your apartment that you realise you’ve locked yourself out. You pat your pockets a few times in search of your keys, but find nothing. Just a switched off phone and a wallet. You punch the wall lightly and press your face into the door.

The door behind you creaks open and footsteps follow out. You don’t bother to turn around and dignify 4B with a response when he greets you. He tells you that the landlord is out today and won’t be back until later. You groan and sink to the floor, face still pressed against the door. All you hear is an exhale of a laugh before 4B is off on his merry way, probably going out to do something really douchey. Barely even an hour passes before you roll onto the floor and curl in on yourself. Two hours pass by the time you pull out your phone and start attempting to beat your Flappy Bird score. The third hour hits when 4B comes home, bags of groceries bunched up in his hands and arms.

You can’t help but peek at what he has, judge him for it. You admire his determination to buy every sugary snack known to man, but you’re somewhat concerned by his six packs of energy drinks, topped up by four bottles of orange soda. Yeah, you occasionally partake in sugar highs, but not on the level this guy seems intent on going to. He barely even had anything healthy in the bags to balance them out and _wow_ , since when have you been a health perfectionist? Last you checked, you honestly gave zero fucks about what you ate as long as you had apple juice with you.

That reminds you. You need to get more AJ next time you’re out.

He closes the door behind him as he throws you a glance over his shoulder, and you can barely hold back the glare you direct at his stupid gelled-up hair and his stupid dorito sunglasses.

You stay where you are for another hour, the faint smell of fish coming from 4B, growing stronger and stronger with each passing minute. You want to take a guess as to what it is, but you just know you’ll fuck up and say it’s salmon when it just so happens to be tuna. Regardless of what it is, you can’t stop yourself from taking in a deep breath in order to smell more, practically drooling over the possibilities of what 4B is cooking while you lay here, hungry and locked out.

The door opens just as you’re about to fall asleep, twenty minutes later, and you jolt gracelessly into a sitting position. You look to 4B, find the blonde standing in his doorway, spot the plate in his hands. The two of you stare at each other for so many seconds, and then the gaze is broken when 4B nods to the inside of his apartment and leaves the door wide open for you to follow. You barely hesitate.

4B is, unsurprisingly, exactly the same as 4A, only mirrored. The landlord had said that the apartments came fully furnished, and you had always assumed that the old furniture in your own was the same as everyone else’s. This makes it easy to walk into 4B and take a seat in the tiny living room, waiting for the blonde to join you. A plate covered in food that looks too good to spoil is placed in front of you, a fork and knife neatly added just seconds after. He takes the seat across from you, doesn’t immediately start eating, and just watches you. You watch him back, finally getting a good look at the asshole; he’s not too bad on the eyes, although you know you’ll say otherwise if you ever see him without the god damn glasses ( _glass houses, Dave_ ). His blonde hair is still held in its anime-esque style, causing you to wonder if he uses some kind of extra strong gel to keep it that way for the whole day; he’s covered in freckles, too, and you can spot just the faint scar every so often from his shoulders and neck. The cut on his lip still hasn’t healed, but it’s getting there.

He picks up his fork and stabs his fish fillet with it, then begins to cut it delicately. He asks you if the food will be okay. You nod and thank him silently. The following twenty minutes is silent, awkward, and if you hadn’t been offered food, you probably would be excusing yourself to go home and just hide in the corner.

Thirty minute mark. He asks how it feels to get some fresh air on it. You almost don’t know what he means, until you feel the itch of the scars covering your face. You mutter this it feels good to get rid of the bandage, but neglect to mention that the stares are driving you insane. As though he’s a mind reader, 4B tells you that the looks get easier to handle, and you won’t even notice them in no time.

The ice is essentially broken from the quiet exchange - he introduces himself (“I’m Dirk, by the way.”) and you do the same (“I’m, ah, Dave.”), and soon enough the two of you are having a fast-paced conversation about your lives. Long after the fish has been eaten, you’re still talking. You’re giving each other information for information, learning about each other as time passes.

Dirk says he’s the younger brother of a famous director. You say you’re the younger brother of a puppet porn maker. He says he’s known how to use a sword since he could walk, honing his skills. You say you’ve been defending yourself with shitty knockoff swords for years, Bro too much of an asshole to buy quality blades for you. Dirk builds stuff. You wreck stuff.

Dirk recently got out of a tough relationship. You recently got the shock of your life.

You don’t doubt that Dirk has pieced together some of the unfortunate incident just from the bits and pieces of conversation hinting at it. You don’t doubt that he’ll ask about it soon, as well. You can’t find it in you to care at this point.

By the time you remember that you need to get your spare key from the landlord, it’s almost midnight. You and Dirk clear the table as you realise this, a mental facepalm initiated not even seconds after the thought strikes you. He offers to let you stay the night, stops you before you can decline. You don’t want to impose, you say. He doesn’t want to leave you sleeping in the hall, he counters.

You’re about to take the couch when he stops you with a shake of his head. “I don’t sleep much,” he says, “so you can take my bed while I keep doing my work in here.”

It’s only now that you notice the oodles and oodles of books on mechanics strewn about the apartment, the neat piles of tools and metal and screws on his coffee table and kitchen bench. You huff, accept his offer once more, and hightail it to his room so you can get some sleep. His room is the exact same size as yours, although his bed is, admittedly, a whole lot more messier. You can hardly even begin to fathom half the junk in his room, because it feels so cramped and nest-like compared to your old (and slowly-fleshing out new) room. Where you had cords and gear left all over the place in order for you to remix some unbelievably ill jams created with your turntables, Dirk’s room is just a huge combination of everything. Posters of horses, different coloured caps, a few puppets that require immediate fixing, _fucking swords_.

It takes every fibre of your being not to judge.

You scurry out of the bedroom with the excuse that you need to go to the bathroom, practically flash stepping past Dirk (who’s already situated on the couch, screwdriver prodding a small mechanical cat as he scans over pages in one of his manuals). You lazily shut the door behind you, not even bothering to lock it, and do your business without much delay. You flush the toilet, move to the faucet to wash your hands, and catch the slightest glimpse of your reflection as you glance up. A glimpse is all you need, though, and you’re doing a double take the moment you see what the bandage had been hiding.

You knew that, with your albinism, you’d have a hard time hiding scars from strifes or handling “normal” amounts of exposure to light like other people can. You’d been prepared to face something that labeled you as even more of a freak than you are now, but the stares you received today and the questions from Dirk do the jagged, still-healing flesh no justice. You almost can’t breathe as you pause mid-wash, hands left soaking in the cool water. It’s so noticeable, even with your shades on. You stop breathing altogether as you feel your stomach lurch, and suddenly _you’re there again_. You’re back to the night it happened, back to the screaming, back to the shock, back to the searing pain.

Before you can even stop yourself, you find yourself flinching as the images flash before you. You flinch at the tone of his voice as he challenges you. You flinch at the first punch he delivers to your jaw. You flinch at the glass bottle being smashed across your face.

He’s probably feelin’ proud of himself, you think, because he’s truly left his mark. He’s got proof that he won that scuffle (albeit unfairly), that he was the one holding the power - despite being arrested and going through court over it all, _he still came out stronger and more victorious_.

Not only did the fucker ruin your life and your trust, he ruined _you_. You’re hideous - the pitiful looks Bro gave you in that first day in hospital are so obvious now. His reluctance to strife, his slower, more noticeable movements around you - he thinks you’re a lost cause now. That’s got to be it. You lost a fight in the real world and now you’re just hopeless.

The thought makes your stomach churn, feeling as though it’s going through multiple loop-de-loops at once, and you almost don’t lift the lid of the toilet in time. It feels like hours have passed before you can finally stop vomiting, although you have a feeling it’s only been about ten minutes. You could swear you’d heard the door open sometime earlier, but you haven’t checked yet. You’ve just been remaining stationary, kneeling on the floor and resting your forehead on your forearms as you try to keep down at least _some_ of your dinner. A hand lands lightly on your back, rubbing up and down as you feel Dirk crouch down next to you. All you hear is a ringing in your ears. You think you might be crying. Breathing is suddenly the hardest thing to accomplish.

The rest of the night carries on too quickly for you to register what’s happening, because suddenly you’re waking up the next morning with Dirk sitting beside the bed, a small flashlight held between his teeth as he flicks through pages in yet another of his manuals. The curtains are held tightly shut with a few clothing pins, barely any light coming through - and where are your glasses? You could’ve sworn you were still wearing them when you were in the bathroom, so when did you take them off?

When Dirk notices you’re awake, he switches off his flashlight and reaches for the neck of his shirt- _Oh_. Dirk had them the whole time. He hands them to you and watches you as you take them, tilts his head to the side curiously as you simply stare at them. It’s too dark to see your reflection in them, too dark to put them on. You thank Dirk for holding on to them. Apologise for being unable to keep down the food he cooked. He waves you off, clicks on his flashlight again, and resumes his reading.

You sleep a few more hours before leaving at lunch. You and Dirk talk to each other much more often as the month goes by. You almost forget why you’re hiding from everyone you knew.

\--

**Fourth Month**

You’ve begun to joke to yourself about living in two different apartments at once. Half of the time you find yourself sleeping in Dirk’s bed while he tinkers with his projects, and the other half of the time you’re sitting in front of your TV and debating over which shitty reality TV show to watch. You talk to Bro more often, call him up every second day to see what he’s been up to, and listen to him complain about your friends looking for you. You’re more than aware that they have been, but don’t mention it to Bro in case you piss him off for essentially siccing your best friends onto him. His complaints don’t convince you to log back into pesterchum.

There are things you’ve begun to notice, though, and you can’t figure out what to think of them. Dirk’s gaze tends to linger on you lately, usually when you’re not looking, and you get the gut feeling that he’s not watching your scars. (Granted, they’ve faded from their obvious milky-pink colour, a little more difficult to spot at a distance.) He smiles more than usual, often leans on his hand when you come over for dinner and wait for you to eat first. You’re probably reading too far into his actions and behaviour, but part of you feels like you’re onto something.

He seems to remember a lot of things you mention idly in conversation - your improvised darkroom back in Houston (in which he responded by lending you his camera in order to take up photography again), your insane love for apple juice (he now keeps a large number of bottles stacked with his orange soda in his fridge), and even your talent with rapping (he challenges you to rap battles every second week, and you swear the fucker’s holding back). Dirk seems to enjoy your company as much as you do his; he’s even asked to come with you to Houston when you visit Bro for Christmas. Bro seems to approve.

Your friends have been getting a little more desperate in contacting you. They’ve stopped calling Bro so much, started texting you instead of messaging you over pesterchum, and your emails are filled to the brim with messages asking where you are, if you’re okay, when you’ll be ready to talk it out with one of them. You’ve responded to Jade only, mostly due to the fact that she knows not to probe or bring up shit that’ll make you push her away again. She’s kind of like Bro, in a way, and it relieves you to a point. She still reminds you that she’ll visit soon, that she’ll be there when you want to talk, and you still don’t have the heart to tell her that you’re not in Houston, per se, or that you’ve already gotten over everything on your own.

Rose always sends you lengthy messages, and she actually makes the effort to call you _one_ day a week just to check up on you. You respond to her texts with one-word or one-sentence messages, usually  was out with dirk didnt hear my phone or, when she asks how you’re going, just chill. Rose seems as accepting as Jade, but makes a point to joke about being neglected and favouritism. The days she does that are the days you decide to message her a few more times to see how she’s doing.

And then, of course, John. Fucking Egbert, you swear he can’t take a hint like the girls can. He calls you the most during the day, and you’ve had to set certain times to call Bro due to John’s constant calls and texts. You want to believe he’s worried, want to appreciate it, but at this point you’re just tired of it. What started as him freaking out over you not responding has graduated into his seemingly unknowing attempts to emotionally manipulate you into answering back. You can’t even possibly begin to figure out why John is going to such extremes, especially when you’re slowly starting to talk to the others after the same amount of time John had to wait. According to Bro, he still calls the Strider homefort.

You don’t really think much of John’s attempts, though, until the third week of the fourth month. You get a text from Bro saying that John is on his way to Houston, but he doesn’t know how far. An hour later, Bro calls from the landline. You pick up eagerly, wondering if John is calling Bro’s phone; you choke as soon as you hear a voice that is certainly not Bro, and hang up immediately. Before John can call back, you switch off your phone and throw it across the room. You’re storming out of your apartment before you can even register how tightly your fists are clenched, how sharply your teeth are digging into your cheek, how livid you are over your best friend’s actions. You practically punch Dirk’s door and bounce on your feet as you wait for him to answer, don’t even wait for an invitation into his apartment as you ask him where his laptop is. He follows you to the bedroom, watches you from the door.

The moment you sit down against the wall and open pesterchum on his laptop, you’re met with a message from John.

GT: wow, dave, nice to see you online! and here i’d thought you’d forgotten about us >:(   
TG: cool your fucking shit ebert and stfu up for a sec   
TG: youre not going to start this whole oooh dave is such an asshole for not responding to me but he always respond to the girls spiel   
GT: oh i’m sorry, i had no idea i wasn’t allowed to worry about my best bro!!   
TG: worrying is cool bro   
TG: you know what isnt?   
TG: being a gigantic dick and driving all the way to houston, hijacking my bros phone, and calling me in hopes ill pick up   
GT: you totally did!   
GT: i’m like the only one you’re ignoring here   
TG: no im p sure i can think of two more people im ignoring the shit out of   
GT: yeah, but you have a good reason to ignore them!! i’m your friend, and i haven’t done anything to deserve the way you’re treating me! D:<   
TG: just   
TG: jfc shut up for a sec   
GT: why? need a moment to think of a good excuse as to WHY you pushed ME away?   
GT: let me guess. you tooooooootally didn’t find a new best bro to hang out with.   
TG: you know what   
TG: fuck you   
TG: i did   
GT: i fucking knew it, you REPLACED ME.   
TG: oh yeah sure i fuckin replaced you lets call it that   
TG: although i believe normal people call it socialising but whatever floats your boat   
GT: dave, now is not the time for you to be a sarcastic dickwad! i’m genuinely hurt here!   
TG: big whoop   
GT: “big whoop”?? it’s like you don’t even care anymore!   
GT: i’ve been trying to help you talk about what happened and let it all out for months   
GT: MONTHS, dave!!   
GT: and yet you just ignore me and ignore me and i’m sick of it!   
GT: you’re running away and just throwing yourself into a deeper pit of emotional distress

You can barely contain your shout of, “Asshole!” at the screen. Dirk enters the room and sits on the bed, watching you as you type.

TG: okay professor egdork  
TG: i think its time i schooled you on a little thing called “taking a step back”   
TG: see some people have a hard time talking about traumatic experiences   
TG: experiences like walking in on your girlfriend cheating on you   
TG: then having her douche of a cheating partner rile you into a fight   
TG: and then idk having him SMASH YOU IN THE FACE WITH A FUCKING BOTTLE OF BOOZE   
TG: stuff like that yknow   
TG: and these people tend to not know what to do when this shit goes down   
TG: so to stop themselves from taking in too much stress guess what they do   
TG: they take a step back for a while   
TG: calm down   
TG: and think about how to deal with the experience before acting   
GT: that’d be all good and well if you didn’t IGNORE everyone who could help, or even disappear for FOUR MONTHS.   
GT: you’re past taking a step back, dave! you’ve just turned it into an excuse to stay away and never deal with it again!   
TG: okay fuck it will you shut up if i agree to that?   
GT: you don’t have to agree with it, dave, you just have to know that it’s the truth!   
TG: oh hey there emotional state i didnt know you developed a physical form   
TG: id had no idea i was talking to you in person since i was twelve gee willikers   
GT: uuuuuuuugh you’re such a pain!   
TG: takes one to know one   
TG: now im gonna leave before you even think to tell me what im feeling like youre some kind of dave strider expert   
TG: it may take me some time before i even talk to you again because fuck me john you sure did do a number on my opinion on you today   
TG: while im at it ill be getting a new number and blocking your email and pesterchum   
TG: until i tell you what that number is or i unblock you, make sure you think about what you did wrong here   
TG: because clearly having me say it wont do any good while youre like this

turntechGodhead [TG] blocked ghostlyTrickster [GT]

You let out a breath after clicking the block button, staring at the faded out name that is John’s chumhandle. You feel sick to your stomach, heart pounding as your anger fades and realisation sets in. You’ve just acted like a total ass to your best friend, even if he had been one first.

Fuck, how are you going to fix this?

The temptation to unblock him and apologise is almost overwhelming, and you nearly do it - until, of course, the lid is slowly pushed down by a leather-gloved hand, shut silently and removed from your lap. The very same hand reaches up to your cheek, palm covering the scars as the thumb brushes against the skin soothingly.

Your glance up, finding Dirk right in front of you, kneeling down with his eyes watching you over the brim his his glasses. This is the first time you’re seeing them, the colour of them, the sheer beauty of them. They’re like gold, you think as he leans a bit closer. A light inside them so bright that you’d mistake them for stars.

His gaze rests solely on you; he leans in closer and closer, his other hand resting on your shoulder. A stupid part of you thinks he’s going to kiss you, because it’d be so painfully cliche to have that happen after what you just went through; but he doesn’t. Dirk’s lips come in contact with your forehead, and he buries his face in your hair as he pulls you into a tight, almost choking hug.

“Don’t regret a word you it,” he whispers. “You said what needed to be said, and I’m sure it’ll get better.”

You don’t even have it in you to disagree with him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you there would be vague-ass smut. Warned y'all.
> 
> Anyway, this is the second and final chapter, which means you probably won't be hearing from me again until my next fic! I hope you enjoyed this one, and I'll see you next time 'round!

**Fifth Month**

You finally cave and let Rose visit you when Dirk leaves for the week. He’s off to some premiere with his brother, won’t be back for at least five days due to the parties and the time he needs to spend catching up with the older man, so you figure you should give yourself some time for your other friends. Well, mainly just one.

You’ve worked out with Jade that she’ll fly over for Christmas with her grandpa and have dinner in the Strider Cave, exchange gifts before going on a road trip to spend Christmas Day with Rose and her family. She’s set on this plan, and after she goes to see Rose she’ll visit John, stay at his place for the week and then return to her island. You admire her ambition to plan it all, still haven’t told her you’ve moved, and tell her that she better have some recordings of her boss ass bass skills for you to mix when you see her.

John is still in your blocked list, and you often have to turn off all of your technology and just watch the alarm clock on your bedside table just to get rid of your temptation to unblock and apologise to him. Rose tells you that what you’re feeling is only natural – John did something extremely out of bounds and invaded your personal space, took away your trust in your own home phone number, but he’s still your friend and he still misses you. She hasn’t tried to convince you to unblock him; in fact, he’s barely even mentioned when Rose comes over on the Friday night.

You’d taken it upon yourself to order Chinese for the two of you to eat while you watch TV and talk about any and all shit. Rose isn’t picky, merely thanks you when you hand her the container with her soup in it. She looks well, you note – her pale blonde hair has tips of purple dyed into it, possibly done by her girlfriend, Kanaya, and her lips are still painted black as per usual. She’s wearing an outfit she knitted herself – a purple and black striped shirt over a long black skirt. You can hear the click-clacking of her Mary Janes every time she enters the kitchen, the heels sounding out against the tiles. It’s a nice sound to focus on when neither of you are talking, you think.

“So,” she says, pausing as she blows on the spoonful of soup in front of her face. “Who is this mysterious ‘Dirk’ you seem to be ignoring me for?”

“Lives across the hall,” you immediately say. The comedy program you’d been watching finishes rolling its credits, the news beginning to play. It’s seven-thirty, and the top entertainment story is the release of the movie of the decade. “Got to know him while I was settling in.”

“You seem to spend quite a lot of time with him.” She gives you a knowing grin.

You wave her off, telling her to be quiet and that the news is playing. She mutters something about you never caring about the news, but shuts up nevertheless. The guys in the newsroom switch to the woman on scene, and sudden you’re taken to the red carpet and the flashing cameras.

The chopsticks drop into your container when you see who the first interview is with.

You almost wouldn’t recognize him if it weren’t for those eyes – those stars you seem to idolize more and more by the day, wanting to see more but never knowing how to ask. Rose seems to notice your falter, and squints at the name on the bottom of the screen.

“This is him?” she asks. You let out a small, choked sound and nod, not trusting your voice at the moment. “He’s quite handsome.” You merely nod again.

He’s…wow. Gone are the anime shades, gelled up hair, and black tank top. Gone is the grease on his hands, cheeks, and nose. Instead, you see a handsome young man dressed in a dark three-piece, his orange tie blending with his eyes so effortlessly. His blonde locks are slicked back, his face bare of any obscuring strands, and his eyes seem to glance at the camera teasingly, his smirk purely mesmerizing.

The lady interviewing him remarks that it’s been years since he was last seen at a premiere with his brother. Dirk shrugs and says that he’d wanted to focus on his education for a while, casually mentions that it was about time he’d spent more time with his brother. The topic quickly switches to how handsome he looks, the interviewer fanning her face with her hand, and you’re struck with a ping of jealousy you didn’t know you were capable of feeling.

Rose nudges your leg with her foot, reaching across the couch to get your attention. “Dave?” she says. “Are you alright?”

It’s only now that you realize that you’re bending the corner of your container quite violently, the plastic pinched painfully between your thumb and forefinger. You release it, letting out a breath, and nod. “Yeah,” you breathe. “He’s just…” _Really fucking hot right now_.

She lets out this little hum, short and decisive, and you really, _really_ want to tell her not to write it down in her journal about you, but you’re just too damn distracted right now.

The interviewer asks Dirk about how his life has been up to this point, hinting towards his relationship status. Dirk informs her that he’s been lying low lately, keeping himself hidden from the paparazzi in order to avoid being hastled about his brother’s work (said brother has slinked up to Dirk’s side effortlessly, fixing his pale blonde hair and adjusting his crimson tie); the interviewer asks him if there’s someone special he’s got in his life right now. Dirk stares directly into the camera, those eyes piercing through the screen and locking with yours – breathing is a foreign concept to you as he smirks at the camera, at _you_ , and says playfully, “Well, there’s this one guy I know…”

That seems to set off the interviewer, as she immediately harasses him with a flurry of questions. How long has he been open about his sexuality? Will the mystery man be seen with him at future premieres? Does his brother approve? (His brother doesn’t even know the guy exists.) Is there anything Dirk wants to say to the mystery man at home? He seems to respond to the last question, shrugging and looking back at the camera and _what is air_ —

“I’m expecting some shitty movies and takeout when I get home, Strider.”

Another decisive hum from Rose, this time with a hint of playfulness to it. “Dave?” she coos. “Are you sure you’re alright—?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” you repeat, a slight wheeze in your voice. You really should take a breath in right about now, but fuck almighty you just can’t function right now. “Jesus Christ on a trike, no.”

Rose stays the night, Bro calls and teases the shit out of you, and Dirk arrives home three days later.

You act as though you never saw the interview. He knows you did, if the movies and Thai food are anything to go by when you come over to his place for dinner.

\--

**Sixth Month**

TT: What are you doing?  
TG: chillin  
TG: killin  
TG: bein a villain  
TG: why whos asking  
TT: A handsome young bachelor with a proposition. Think the villainy can wait a few seconds?  
TG: idk man its some p srs shit right here  
TT: Bro.  
TT: Dude.  
TT: C’mon.  
TG: fine fine whats up  
TT: Okay so  
TT:  I still feel like a total dick for doing that whole thing in the interview  
TG: (which i never even saw btw)  
TT: (Lies.)  
TT: And I wanna make it up to you somehow.  
TT: Woo you properly.  
TG: woo me properly  
TT: Yes.  
TG: you want to  
TG: “woo me properly”  
TT: That is correct.  
TG: idk  
TT: Baby no don’t be like that.  
TG: idk man like its sounds cool and all  
TG: senapis noticin me and all that shit  
TG: buuuuuut  
TT: Buuuuuut?  
TG: idk  
TT: David Strider, I will phone up your Bro and ask for his blessing to take you out to a fancy dinner.  
TT: I will use the most eloquent of language, not only impressing one of the greatest names in the porn industry, but gaining his approval to ask you out.  
TT: It’ll be the most romantic shit you could ever concoct.  
TT: Hold your horses, stop the presses  
TT: Dave Strider is about to be fucking wooed.  
TG: do tell more  
TT: Our night will begin with dinner at a four star restaurant, in which only the finest of wine will be supplied alongside the quality meals of Italian origin.  
TG: well i do love me some spaghetti  
TT: Shut up, you dork, I’m not done yet.  
TT: After dinner, we’ll head straight for the nearest location for some sick ass stargazing. I’ll say some cheesy romance lines, admire you as you watch the stars in awe, and then initiate some serious hand holding.  
TG: omg you wild rebel you  
TT: I know, right?  
TT: After dinner and stars, we’ll head back to the apartment, and I’ll leave the verdict of the night in your capable hands.  
TG: hmmmmmm  
TT: Have I managed to sway you, perhaps?  
TT: Will I be getting my chance to woo you?  
TG: if you stop saying woo, then maybe  
TT: Done.  
TG: i do have to ask tho  
TG: where is this comin from?  
TT: What do you mean, “where”?  
TG: i mean  
TG: fuck how do I word this without sounding like an insensitive prick  
TT: How did I come to the conclusion that I was falling for you?  
TG: uh  
TG: yeah i guess  
TT: Simple.  
TT: You are my sunshine  
TT: My only sunshine  
TG: dirk omfg  
TG: no  
TT: You make me happy when skies are gray  
TG: dirk i will take your sunshine away  
TT: …  
TT: Baby no don’t be like that.  
TG: and IM the dork  
TT: We’re both dorks.  
TT: Only difference is that one of us is cuter.  
TG: well now im just offended  
TT: Why? Pretty sure there’s no one else named Dave in the building who is the most ironic of dudes with a cute ass to boot.  
TG: you think my ass is cute?  
TT: I think it’s bootylicious.  
TG: coughdorkcough  
TT: Shut up.  
TG: you know what?  
TG: i think ill take you up on that date  
TT: Wait really?  
TG: hell yeah  
TG: and i expect the grand treatment  
TG: make me feel like a pretty princess or don’t even bother bro  
TT: As you wish.

\--

**Seventh Month**

All you’re capable of comprehending right now is the feeling of warmth pooling in your chest, your heart pounding in your ears, and the tangy taste of the sweet and sour sauce lingering on his lips. It’s the third week of your seventh month, and also your fourth date with Dirk; it’s the first time the two of you have taken the leap of intimacy outside of holding hands and nuzzling into each other’s necks, shoulders.

It feels like heaven.

Distantly you can feel his hand on your cheek, thumb caressing your scars as though worshiping them. Your face is burning up, your breath coming in short bursts as you try to remember that breathing is a human necessity. Dirk’s other hand is nestled on your hip, rubbing circles into it as the fingers occasionally dip under the shirt, trace the skin, retreat back above the fabric. He’s got you lying down on the couch, kneeling over you carefully; your own hands are fisted into his shirt, your left slowly, slowly inching toward his neck. Once you feel his skin under your fingertips, you reach for the back of his head and tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss. His tongue flicks out every so often to lick your lips, but never moves to delve deeper, to explore.

You don’t even know how this happened – all you remember is watching _Zoolander_ with him, often making comments on Stiller’s performance and the plotline, and then suddenly you’re sucking face with Dirk as you listen to the exchanges between Stiller and Wilson on the screen.

You can’t wait any longer for Dirk to take the initiative, to deepen the kiss, and you boldly press your tongue against his lips. You can feel him smirk, hear the amused exhale through his nose, and suddenly he’s letting you in and nibbling, sucking harshly at your tongue. You can’t hold in your moan at the sensation, your breaths quicker than before, and you shift your arms again – pull him impossibly closer. He’s deliberately keeping his lower half above and away from you, not wanting to push you too far, to do anything you don’t want to. You appreciate his consideration, but that doesn’t stop you from jutting your hips up as he finally plunges his tongue into your mouth, rubbing it against your own as he tilts his head and then tugs at your bottom lip with his teeth.

He pulls away and moves on to your neck, occasionally nipping and pinching the skin before kissing the slowly reddening flesh. He remarks that the sounds you’re making are gorgeous, but you’re barely even registering any sounds that are escaping you. Dirk removes the hand on your cheek, letting it mirror his other hand as he places it on your other hip, immediately snaking under your shirt and digging into your skin. Just as he does this, his mouth brings its attention to your Adam’s apple, sucking harshly at it before applying pressure with his teeth. This time you hear the moan that slips out, and embarrassment is quickly setting in because Jesus Christ that was a little louder than you’d like, especially when all the two of you are doing is having a rather intense make out session.

Lips lightly trace along your jaw, leaving small nips and kisses in their wake, until finally they reach your scars. You try to turn away, to take his attention away from them, but all he does is follow the skin and plant kisses along each jagged line, each uneven groove, until finally he’s nuzzling your cheek and pressing his own against it, his lips so close to your ear that you can feel his breath on you. Absently, you note that you’re panting out breaths compared to his slightly uneven exhales. His thumbs massage your hips, almost all of the pressure gone.

He leans closer to you, licks his lips, and whispers, “Dave Strider, you are the single most beautiful man I have ever met, and I will never _ever_ let you forget that.”

You want to believe him so much as he says that, as he goes back to placing those soft, kind kisses to your scars – to your proof of defeat. He lists synonym after synonym, occasionally returning to your lips and giving one, two, three small pecks before resuming his previous task. You want to believe him as he brings a flutter to your chest, butterflies in your stomach.

So you do. You let yourself believe that he truly sees you as sublime, perfect, gorgeous. You let yourself believe that he’ll always remind you that you’re every word he lists, plus more. You let yourself believe that these scars aren’t just some hideous result of a fight gone wrong, of a relationship turned sour.

And it feels like heaven.

\--

**Eighth Month**

To: ghostlytrickster@skaianet.com  
From: turntechgodhead@skaianet.com  
Subject: (no subject)  
Sent: Today, 12:34pm

okay how to begin this  
john, i have been a colossal asswipe to you and quite frankly its hella uncool  
i dont know if youll read this right after it sends or if youll get it like months after it sends but w/e as long as you see it and read it then its all chill i guess  
safe to say im too scared to unblock you because i just don’t know what ill see  
am i gonna see your name still grayed out? am i gonna see all these unread messages calling me every name under the sun for what i said? fuck knows tbh  
so right now were going to have to settle for emails if youre still happy to talk to a prick like me  
totally cool if you don’t want to btw like i wouldnt blame you  
uhhh i guess this is the part where i tell you about my glorious adventures over the past four(?) months  
well idk if you caught the premiere of that lalonde guys movie – hes like some kind of distant cousin to rose or smth idk – but his younger brother had this extremely vague mention of a strider in his life when they interviewed him  
that was me  
that still is me  
thisd probably be the part where youre all “eww dave dont bring your relationship junk into my inbox thats gross dude”  
suck it up bruh  
weve kinda been dating i guess? i mean yeah theres sloppy makeouts and handholding and everything  
but neither of us have really popped the whole “be my bae” question here like technically dirk and i are still “going out” instead of “ _going out_ ”  
“daaaaaaaave take this to rose im not good with giving relationship advice”  
youre tellin me but rose already knows and is sending me tips on how to not fuck up every day and jade already caught on because she was watching the news at the same time and started questioning me about it like five minutes after I came out of my shocked stupor  
youre p much the only one who doesnt know firsthand from me  
and i cant keep you in the dark forever man  
youre my bro  
if youre still friends with me i mean like if not then i can respect that decision and ill disappear forever k  
and i guess ill cut it off here and just let you know that ill be going to bros for christmas with dirk  
jades gonna be visiting for christmas eve before she heads off to roses so idk if youre up for it then maybe well see each other there for some turkey? up to you tbh

When you knock on the door to your old home, Bro swings it open and sweeps you up into a big bear hug. You screech, kick his shins as best you can, while Dirk chuckles at the sight and takes a step back. Bro practically carries you inside, still in his hug, as he tells Dirk to make himself at home; the door is closed behind your maybe-boyfriend, bags are dumped on the couch, and finally you’re introducing Bro and Dirk.

The little shit actually bows before Bro and does the dorkiest introduction ever known to man. He recites who he is and his intentions with you in Shakespearean English. You have to fight every urge to drag him out the door and away from your brother – who will, you know, go along with this shit for the rest of Christmas.

Everything settles in pretty quickly after that. Bro orders some pizza for you all to eat, Dirk talks about what he’s doing with his life and how long he’s known you, and you tell Bro what you’ve been up to since you last called (which was two weeks ago). His poker face does nothing to hide his pride when you tell him you’re earning money with your photography, and you’re just now starting to get back into your mixes. Bro looks almost relieved, you think, and absently you wonder if your recovery had anything to do with Dirk.

If Dirk hadn’t been there, you wouldn’t have been able to confront John about his shit and then take a step back from him. If Dirk hadn’t been there, you’d be spiraling deeper and deeper into depression over everything that’s happened. If Dirk hadn’t been there, you wouldn’t have friends anymore. He kept you from being a total recluse, kept your attention on one thing at a time while reminding you that you’re deserving of anything good thrown your way. He’s helped you forget the bad and redo the good.

God bless this beautiful bastard, you think. He’s busy doing his impression of his brother, borrowing your shades and exchanging them for his (he’s always so in tune to your light sensitivity, you think that maybe his brother has eyes like yours as well – or someone he’s grown up with), and he’s rambling about anything and everything in a fashion apparently similar to his brother. God bless him, indeed.

When the pizza arrives, you fumble with your words and say, “Pizza,” instead of “hello”. You assume that the pizza boy uses a certain blue social media and blogging site because he immediately replies with, “Yes, this is pizza,” before snorting a laugh and telling you how much it costs. You ignore the stares Bro and Dirk give you, their knowing smirks at your fumble, and fuckdamnit you are an adult and you’re too old to be making Tumblr references without meaning to. Bro and Dirk let it go after about twenty minutes, which is roughly how long you hole up in your room with the pizza for. You can hear Bro attempt to pick the lock at some point, but you manage to lay a couple of spare cinderblocks in front of the door to keep him out.

After some movies, talk of irony, and tour of the apartment, you lead Dirk to your room to pack away his things. The two of you will be here for a good week and a half, having agreed to spend New Year’s with Bro as well (with the added bonus of Dre, Dirk’s brother), and you think that it’s best to get settled in before two a.m. rolls around. By midnight, you’ve packed all of your things away. By one, the two of you have made your bed (which had been upgraded to a queen mattress before you’d left for Sacramento), and Bro’s giving you both a speech about canoodling under his roof. Dirk responds like a dutiful private, while you just hang your head in your hands and groan.

The next few days pass without incident. You and Dirk share your bed, and more often than not you wake up tangled in his arms, breathing in the smell of his shampoo. This is one of the rare times you see him sleep, away from his projects and any distractions that could keep him awake. He looks young, handsome, and so vulnerable in his sleep – you’re usually the one to wake up first, and a good ten minutes is spent watching him for any signs of dreams, nightmares, or discomfort. You’d never expect to see Dirk so expressive in his sleep, and yet there he lays, arms wrapped around your waist and a small smile gracing his features. You always make a point to give him a small peck on the lips to wake him up, and he always responds by returning it in a half-asleep daze that ends with the two of you pressing your foreheads together, staring at each other with absolute adoration.

Dirk hadn’t been kidding about admiring you as you watched the stars in awe – he’d just never told you which stars they’d be.

Jade arrives at Christmas Eve, early in the afternoon and with a huge grin on her face. Bec, her dog, comes bounding into the apartment, tackling you to the ground and licking the shit out of your face. Her grandpa walks in behind her, chipper as ever with his old sayings from whatever era he’s still stuck in; Bro immediately jumps to playfully flirt with him, to which he’ll continuously be shot down throughout Old Man Harley’s stay.

When Jade sees Dirk, she stares at him in scrutiny, judging him. She scrunches up her nose, squints at him from behind those large, circular glasses, and leans forward with her hands on either hip. After a moment of growling, she beams at the man and wraps her arms around him. “I approve!” she declares, throwing you a thumbs up as Dirk awkwardly accepts her hug.

You’re all settling into your respective places for the Christmas festivities (yourself and Dirk at the couch while Jade demonstrates what you suspect to be erectile dysfunction in your game of charades, with Bro and Harley preparing alcoholic beverages for you young’uns and Bro) when yet another knock sounds at the door. You call out to Bro and ask if he’d ordered pizza, but he simply says to answer the door and see who it is. He suspects that the neighbours directly beneath you are trying to get him kicked out, and they’ve been at it since you were fifteen.

You open the door with a groan at Bro to start keeping tabs on who he pisses off in the building, but cut yourself off midway when you see who’s waiting on the other side.

John practically tackles you into a hug and wails that he’s sorry for being an ass, while his father stands just outside the door and smiles at the admission from his son. You suspect John’s Christmas presents will all be labelled with an “I’m proud of you” after this, but you’re not going to hold your breath.

Everything seems to settle after that. Sure, it’s a bit awkward with John at first, but after some time you’re all comfortably sitting in the living room, eating your Christmas dinners and exchanging gifts. You think Jade went the most out-there with her gifts, because you swear you’ve never seen such a gloriously feathery orange frock before. You put on the jacket and refuse to take it off for the rest of Christmas, pulling up the hood when John teases you about his windsock hoodie being “waaaaaaaay” cooler. Jade does apologise for not getting Dirk anything, saying she hadn’t really asked you if you had any preferences for gifts. He waves her off, telling her that meeting her is a gift in itself, and goes back to discussing _something_ with Bro that you’re scared to get in on.

Like that, Christmas Eve passes. Jade and John’s families leave for Rose’s. You and Dirk stay up until New Year’s. As Bro and Dirk get along more and more by the day, you find yourself becoming more and more confident about being with Dirk.

You decide you’re going to ask him to officially be your boyfriend on New Year’s Eve.

Dre arrives while you’re still debating on how to ask Dirk, and it’s a bit of an awkward standoff between yourself and Dre. He’s a tall fucker, dressed down from his sharp suit and into a polo and jeans reminiscent of your own brother’s style. All he lacks are the leather gloves and anime shades, which are surprisingly replaced by a pair of aviators not unlike your own.

He shakes your hand, tells you to treat his li’l bro right, and goes off to get drunk with Bro.

You think you just pissed yourself.

Thankfully, Dirk’s quick to pull you away from the two adults so you can hang out in your room for some time. It’s a solid six hours until fireworks start, and you know Bro never sets up on the roof until eleven. You’ve got plenty of time to dick around ( _haha oh wow cute choice of words there, Dave_ ) with Dirk.

You’re surprised with how well it all ends, to be honest. All you simply do is tell it to him straight, saying you want to make it all official (despite the fact that the two of you have been pretty involved with each other for a good while now), and he agrees wholeheartedly. No hesitation, all excitement and relief, and all of a sudden the two of you are just sitting awkwardly on the edge of your bed, glancing at each other every so often.

Eventually Dirk suggests making out to pass the time. You very much like the suggestion. It doesn’t take long for it to escalate beyond that, though; you’re not sure how long the two of you simply exchange short, sweet kisses, but they soon progress to rougher, desperate ones. The two of you had started on the edge of the bed, but now you’re straddling Dirk and resting your hands on his chest. His own hands knead your ass through your jeans, the two of you grinding against each other – you’re absolutely breathless, unsure of whose moans, grunts, and groans are dominating. All you know is that you want to be impossibly closer, to taste his lips for so much longer and to feel the heat in your chest forever. When you both release, it feels like the longest time before either of you moves. Dirk repeatedly presses his lips to your scars, traces your cheek with his thumb, his fingers running up and down the bumps of your spine.

He whispers sweet nothings to you, giving you that look of adoration he seems to reserve for when you aren’t looking. In return you lean into his soft touches, bury your face in the hollow of his shoulder, let yourself believe his words.

The two of you join Bro and Dre on the roof at eleven, witness the fireworks (as well as light a few of your own) at twelve. You finish your eighth month away from home. Your eighth month of recovery. Your eighth month of knowing Dirk.

You feel like you again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more info on my upcoming fics and general reblogging of junk, head to http://www.cheeky-writes-striders.tumblr.com


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